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Last Curtain Call

Poetry By: Mistress of Word Play

This poem is dedicated to a musician friend of mine. I miss his music and smile.

Submitted:Sep 23, 2009    Reads: 152    Comments: 16    Likes: 30   

The last note was played,
and down he walked.
With his friends,
for awhile he talked.
He laughed and shared,
a drink or two.
Then home he went silently,
he wept, but no one heard.
Now silence falls,
not a sound, not a word.
He's read his last review.
For like the thief,
that ever steals,
without remorse,
each person feels.
Death has claimed him, too.
Sometimes at night,
when all is still.
and moolight works,
her mystic will,
his song comes,
ringing through.

For a friend of mine. Play on in the heavens.


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